Parent's role changes from sports to music

The Rockford Rams celebrate their conference championship on Feb. 28. Andrew is third from the right.

I'm quickly learning the proper and varying roles of an activities parent -- and how hard it is to let go and accept that my kids are getting older.

My son is on the Rockford High School swim team -- conference champs! And my daughter, a sixth-grader, is just starting down the road that will turn me into a band parent.

I get the sports stuff. That's easy.

My job is to:

• Show up at meets, even those on the Lakeshore.

• Buy a hot dog and Diet Coke from the volunteers working concessions.

• Take my turn volunteering to sell those concessions. I've been named King of the Walking Tacos, a title I hold proudly. (I'll share my secret, if you want.)

• Cheer loudly for my kid.

• Cheer loudly for the other kids.

• Not cheer for rival Jension, but quietly praise it for its pool, which is, by far, the most spectator-friendly.

• Acknowledge that I have a hat that is a stuffed ram's head and threaten to wear it, but not actually bring it to any event that involves being seen in public with my son.

• Offer words of encouragement over a medium chocolate shake on the way home.

Caroline proudly shows off her silver medal from the Sixth Grade Solo Festival.

My daughter has taken to playing the flute, and this weekend was our first Sixth Grade Solo Festival.

You have to understand that while I love music, I am the least musical person you know. One of the reasons I like the Ramones is that I'm convinced the band members didn't know how to play their instruments until their third album, maybe the fourth. I can relate.

So we arrived at East Rockford Middle School early Saturday with flute and angst.

First we practiced "Don Giovanni" in the band room while a dozen other kids all practiced "Don Giovanni" on their own instruments, all starting and stopping at different times.

Then, we were led to a room where a judge and two older students sat.

The judge said we were allowed in, but my daughter said otherwise. She wanted to do this without our help.

Our new job, I learned, is to pace nervously in the hall, straining to hear a cautiously played version of "Don Giovanni" through the door.

I tried to enter after hearing the song end and applause from the two students, but their looks of horror implied that my proper spot was back in the hallway.

When do we cheer? Where are the walking tacos? At what point do I yell, "Go Rams!" Can I wear the stuffed ram hat? Which kids are from Jenison?

It was very hard for me.

My daughter bounded out of the room with a sheet of paper announcing she had earned a silver medal, which we picked up from two student volunteers on the way out.

And on the way home, we stopped for a shake and words of encouragement. Some things don't change.